Ballroom Blitz
by EEevee
Summary: Just a fun set of Baccano! ficlets and drabbles because the series needs more love :
1. The Devil's Favor

Title: The Devil's Favor

Author: Eeevee

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: May be a few discrepancies with the anime/novels. Dedicated to my wonderful friend who made me sit down and watch Baccano! PS. I still don't like HSB; I think he's a slimball :)

I knew this was probably not the most genius idea I'd ever had. Hell, it was downright stupid. I knew it was stupid, but I needed to do something with my youth. I wasn't going to be like my naïve little sister, rotting away in some mansion doing what daddy dearest and big brother Jeffery wanted. Man, it's just too bad I wasn't there when they were offed. That would've been a sight to see. As it was I could barely keep myself from spitting on their graves.

I slammed my fist into a scummy wall. Fuck those thieves that 'stole my sadness.' I could've used that cash in the worst way. And little sister would've given hers over without a peep if I asked.

She was too goddamn nice and sheep-like for her own good.

And why shouldn't she be? Locked up like a princess in a fairytale for fifteen years, the darling of the family. The sweet, pretty, obediently little doll that prayed on fucking command. It was sickening. And I was just Dallas the dumbass. Dallas the slave. Dallas the scapegoat. I was the pathetic, whiny, useless black sheep and treated that way… until I fought back, rebelled. And then I was _dangerous_. Ha, yeah, dangerous enough to kick out on the streets. Well, I was still alive and indestructible to boot while they were feeding the worms.

If I believed in that shit I'd say God had a wicked sense of humor.

And god dammit if the fucker wasn't laughing at the joke I was right now.

This was utterly stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Even my henchman had fled, probably thinking I was off my fucking rocker. Invincible didn't mean jack if the one you sought was also fucking invincible AND immortal. Not to mention that he put us in a fucking can of cement and sunk us in the river.

Do you know how god damn cruel that was?

At least I tried to make it quick with some tommy guns. Bam, blow their heads off and it's over. Well, after a few swings through their midsections. Okay, so a few more fucking seconds of revenge. I wasn't like those bastards deserved it anyway.

Not like drowning over and over again. I started shaking and shivering at the thought of the cold, filthy water pouring down my throat, choking me and clogging my lungs. Water came in my ears, busting the ear canals and leaking into my ear drums. My eyes pickled and swelled shut over time so all I could see was a haze. The panicked feeling over and over as I resurrected to new terror because I knew I wouldn't die but couldn't fight the instincts. My instinct drove me fucking crazy I tell you. It was amazing I got out at all.

Shakily I ran my fingers over my teeth still unable to believe that I chewed through cement. Fucking cement. I was god damn powerful to chew through cement with just my teeth. While drowning. Months, I spent _months_ chewing and drowning.

And I wasn't going near a god damn bit of water ever again.

Just like I shouldn't be so fucking stupid. Maybe your instincts wore out after months of drowning?

Getting myself together, I barely dodge to the side as the very devil of my own personal, watery Hell sauntered by.

I peered out, pleased to note his fucking bear of a brother wasn't present. It was just that little brat in the green suit.

I froze as they walked by. The brat had a bottle of wine dangling neglectfully between two fingers and his hand was tilted a bit. The devil's eyes were near-shut but his steps were fairly straight and even. I found myself staring at him, unsure what exactly I wanted to do to him.

No, I knew what I fucking wanted to do to him. It was a matter of which order. Choke him to death with his goddamn tie or fuck him senseless into the dirty, seedy back alley until he wept for fucking mercy? Slice off his fingers and toes and nose piece by piece or pretend to be like the Gandor's dog and make ribbons out of his soft organs with scissors? Sadly enough, chewing, drowning, and terror limited my imagination. So for months I tried to come up with the perfect punishment for that fox-eyed bastard.

And now that I was here I froze like a god damn pussy.

"You truly are like a cockroach."

I shivered as his mocking voice floated across the alley. For a second I could feel the cold, slimy cement closing in around me and felt the vinyl of the card faces brush against me.

"No asinine proclamation of how you are going to get your revenge?" the footsteps paused as both men stopped. Luck slowly turned around and cocked his head, "Maybe the water damage made your smarter."

"F-f-fuck you!"

I hated myself for the quiver in my voice. If anything it seemed to amuse the sly bastard because his customary smirk deepened.

He walked towards me, the brat causally taking a sip of his wine in the background, and I stumbled back.

God damn fucking crazy. I didn't have anything on me to defend myself other than a knife. My numb fingers fumbled for the blade when strong fingers clamped on to my wrists. I was forcefully shoved back into the wall and pinned there.

Swearing and struggling I tried to knee him in the groin without much success. He merely pushed my legs to the side and pinned them too. I could feel the body heat through our clothing and felt his breath tickle the skin on my face. The liquor on his breath smelled sweet like honey.

"No, fuck _you_ Dallas." He purred, pressing harder, and I started to feel the panic creeping up again. It really kicked in when his lips covered mine, restricting my air flow and invading my mouth with damp salvia. The back of mind considered that wine-flavored spit was better than bilge water, but the panic was clawing and tearing away through such trivial thoughts.

With strength born of terror, I ripped myself from his grasp. The cloth from the sleeve tore in his grasp and I stumbled over some trash bags. The cold concrete seeped through the seat of my pants but all I could do was grasp my chest with clawed hands and hyperventilate. Strangled moans seeped through my desperate gasps and my eyes were wide and unseeing.

It took several minutes for me to get my breathing under control. I peered up, expecting them to be gone, or a kick in the gut at least. Instead I saw the bastard peering down at me with a strange look on his face. He looked like he had gone and beat a fucking puppy or something.

He held out his hand and I flinched back. When it didn't strike, I mustered up my courage and swatted the offending thing away. It wasn't exactly what I wanted to do with his hand, but I was beyond pissed that he was toying with me. I wasn't a toy, god dammit.

"I don't need your fucking pity." I snarled, finally placing the look he had given me earlier.

His lips twisted back into their customary smirk, that god damn attractive smirk that made him such a mystery, and he put his hands in his pockets. He pulled out a piece of paper and dumped it unceremoniously on my head.

"Your sister has been searching for you." He said mildly making no move at all, just continued looking at me. I flared at the mention that he had seen my sister. How fucking dare he! Apparently my outrage showed on my face because a mirthless chuckle escaped his lips, "If you had half the balls that little girl had, you might even be worth something as a man."

Once again my fists moved before my brain did. He caught my fist and tugged it behind my back. His voice was soft and ominous in my ear, "I'll warn you this: watch out for my brothers, Dallas. Because I'm so generous, I won't mention our meeting, but if they see you… well, let's just say they better not see you. Do you understand me?"

Remembering Berga's massive fists and Keith's deadly glare I nodded silently. He let go but gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before striding back to the brat.

"Luck, I think you're a little drunk." The brat laughed, clearly finding the whole thing funny. Damn kid.

"Perhaps." He agreed not looking back.

The two disappeared around the corner and I stared after them for a few seconds. Gathering my scrambled brains back up, I picked up the piece of paper and recognized the scribbled address to the Daily Days. There was also a little note scrawled in spidery cursive:

'You are a tenacious bastard. You're not forgiven, but you can be more than human scum, or so your sister believes. If you can manage that and want to see me, you know where to find me. –Luck Gandor'

With a growl I crumpled the paper and threw it against the wall. That fucking bastard! Somehow he knew! And he thought it was god damn funny. He even carried around a note for me about it!

After giving the wall a few solid punches I started to stalk off. After a second thought, I hurried back and stuffed the paper in my pocket. A few glances around, just because I was now very aware of who's turf I was skulking in now, I went the opposite way of my devil.

I would take the invitation. And next time I would be prepared.


	2. Expecting

Title: Expecting

Author: Eeevee

Rating: K

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's note: none

"Jacuzzi, sit down. I got something to tell you." Nice said.

The gang was holed up in a temporary safe house. Maybe not the best place for a conversation, but they had nothing but time. It was a matter of cat and mouse, and these mice had no interest in being torn to pieces.

The sickly yellow light flickered inconsistently across the crates and concrete floors. It turned Jacuzzi's jacket an unflattering shade of puke and Nice decided that would have to be fixed next time they were here. It wasn't that things had to be all pretty, she wasn't into that, but that god damn flickering made her fingers itch for some matches and a more permanent solution.

"What is it Nice?" Jacuzzi asked, peering nervously around.

"Would you just sit down?"

Jacuzzi focused his full attention on her hearing her serious tone and his eyes widened. His mouth moved soundless for a few seconds as he worked himself up into a worried tirade, "What? Are you hurt? Oh gosh, are you bleeding? I knew those bullets were dangerous! Have they found us again? Oh no, what're we going to do? It's Donny, isn't it? He's in trouble…" Jacuzzi squeaked, "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Over here boss," a deep voice rumbled from across the room where the rest of the gang was playing a game of poker.

Nice gave a good-natured sigh and grabbed his wrist firmly with her gloved hand. She tugged him closer to get his attention, "Why are you always so negative? What if I got some good news to tell you?"

"Oh…"

Nice, deciding he didn't believe her, or was too stupefied by the thought of optimism to believe her, continued calmly, "We're having a baby." And she hoped he wouldn't hit his head on the way down because she wasn't going to be able to catch him.

"A…a baby?"

She nodded.

His expressive face warred between confusion, panic, and happiness. Wolf whistles echoed around them and Nice had to remind Jacuzzi to breathe.

"We… we… we need diapers!" he blurted out, finally getting a coherent sentence out after several false starts. "And… and… toys, you know?"

"I don't think he'll need those just yet." Nice grinned.

"He? It's a boy?"

"Well, it could be a girl."

"A girl?"

"Jeez Jacuzzi, it's not like we can tell yet. I ain't that far along." She placed a hand on her flat body to emphasis her point. He tentatively placed his hand over hers and gave a trembling smile.

"Ah, he kicked me!"

Nice realized it was good they had time to talk this out so they could lay some ground rules. But for the moment she was happy enough to share his excitement in addition to her own. She was sure the nagging would come later.


	3. Embellishments

Title: Embellishments

Author: Eeevee

Rating: K

Disclaimer: still don't own Baccano!

Author's note: bad attempts at a Brooklyn accent and an attempt to be IC… written off the anime. Anyone else notice the disappearing bow?

Maiza reached up and pulled the hat down off the shelf as he explained to his younger companion. He plopped it on the young man's head and smiled as Firo peered eagerly in the mirror.

He grinned and touched the brim, "I like this one, Maiza."

Maiza gave another smile as he glanced in the mirror. He thought the hat was perfect for Firo. The green suited him very well. Except for… Maiza blinked, deciding to bring it up outside the shop. No need to point it out in the store.

"Welcome to the Martillo Family." He said instead enjoying Firo's child-like expressions.

"I ain't one yet." Firo protested, still admiring the hat, although his dark eyes widened slightly, "Not 'til tommorra."

"The ceremony's already started." Maiza remarked and seeing Firo's look he added, "I'm buying you this hat, aren't I?"

"Oh yea, thanks a bunch Maiza!"

Maiza paid for the purchase and the two headed for the door. He almost pointed the problem out again but was sidetracked with the two very odd people they ran into at the door.

He stared at them in bemusement and shook his head.

"Firo."

"Yea?" Firo paused and looked over his shoulder was a slightly puzzled look. His bangs were scrunched up under the hat's brim showing his eyes.

Maiza had to think around the fact that Firo was ridiculously cute. It was hard to believe that the boy was actually 18 and a highly skilled assassin in the mafia. Then again there were far stranger things in this world; things that weren't nearly so endearing.

He wasn't sure when he and Firo had become friends. Perhaps he had seen a younger brother in the adopted boy. Or maybe it was Firo's rather charismatic personality and innocent face that drew him. Of course, that was just a façade; Maiza knew of the boy's knife skills. It offset his utter lack of common sense when it came to danger.

And tomorrow would be the day when he would face his friend in a show of fancy knife work. He knew he'd be hard pressed to keep his secret considering how good Firo had become.

"Are you going to see the Gandors tonight?"

"Naw, they'd just take me out. I need to be in top shape to defeat ya, Maiza." Firo smirked. "Can't do that when I'm nursing my splittin' head, now can I?"

"You won't be able to beat me anyway." Maiza replied mildly with a bit of steel in his mellow voice.

"Ha ha, someday I will!"

"Not when you look like that." The older man teased back remembering what he was going to say in the hat store.

"Look like what?" Firo questioned, cocking his head and exposing the offending item even more. Maiza had to chuckled. "What? What're ya laughin' at?"

Before Maiza could answer a loud ruckus caught both Mafioso's attention. He reached out and caught Firo by the collar firmly.

"Let go Maiza. I wanna check it out."

Maiza just shook his head in amusement, "I'm sure you do. Just hold still a moment then I'll let you go."

Firo instantly froze up wondering what in the world Maiza was going to do.

The big, gentle fingers ran lightly across his forehead making him blink a few times. Then they tugged on his hat. He almost protested that he was very attached to that hat despite owning it less than five minutes and that Maiza better be caref--.

RIP.

"Maiza!"

The older man looked up, startled at the accusing tone. He frowned.

"Why'd ya do that for?"

Maiza stared at the cute little green bow in his palm and then at Firo. He couldn't help it… he started laughing.

Firo, utterly baffled by his friend's behavior, snatched his injured hat back. He put it snuggly on his head and listened for where the noise was coming from.

"Anyway, I'm goin' ta check it out." Firo said hanging onto his hat just in case his friend decided to commit more injustice against the poor thing. He was already considering where to take it to get it fixed up.

"Be careful." Maiza cautioned still a little out of breath from laughing so hard. "And don't worry about your hat; I'll fix it if you bring it by later. I just can't have you going out with bows or someone might mistake you for a girl."

Firo pushed out his lip in a pout, "I don't look like a girl."

Maiza pictured the bow in his hair again and just chuckled, "Go check it out. I will see you later tonight, okay?"


	4. NonTraditional

Title: Non-Traditional

Author: Eeevee

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Spoilerish if you haven't seen the OVAs. And a bit rambley due to Claire's personality. For Jill The Vampire, hopefully it was what you wanted  they're one of my favorite pairings too… just hard to write for me.

The rumor had it that Vino was getting married, or that was what was going around the underworld of New York. There was another rumor that said he was dead, so how could he possibly get married? Yet another rumor claimed that he had killed the great assassin Felix and stolen his name. Many more rumors swirled around but only a few knew the truth.

And the truth was that Claire Stanfield never could do anything traditionally.

And the other truth was Claire did things the way he expected them to be done, and done they were. Critics had no bearing on his life; they were merely annoying insects that whined with don'ts, can'ts, and won'ts.

Claire once heard the saying, 'the world is your oyster.' He didn't care much for oysters but it was the sentiment that grabbed his attention.

He browsed through the cases nonchalantly. He knew that if it was the perfect gift, it would call to him. Inferior merchandise never had that ring to it and this gift had to be extra special. Silver glittered on a black velvet pillow, catching his eye, and he moved past all the other gleaming metals to seek it out.

Gently his strong fingers picked up the object and turned it in a small circle. The workmanship was impressive and the metal was even and delicate. It was certainly a nice enough present, but was it perfect? Perfect enough to be given to his future wife?

He placed it back down in the indentation on the velvet and browsed some more. This was the fifth or sixth shop he had visited and that was the first inkling he had. His brother had given up on his quest a few shops ago, but that was the way Luck was, and Claire accepted that not everyone had the standards he did.

When Luck had found out what exactly they were shopping for, he had groaned, 'What kind of present is that for the girl you're going to marry?'

Claire peered around and replied, 'One she'll enjoy.'

'Just what kind of girl said yes to your crazy proposal anyway?'

'The one I'm going to marry.' Claire said with a bit of a warning in his tone. He glanced at a gold one and dismissed it as too gaudy.

Luck wisely shut up. At least until the third shop.

'You should've brought Firo if you were going to go shopping for knives.' He complained, showing no interest in the sharp blades all around him. He shrugged and warned, 'And I'll be even less help with dresses.'

While his brother's company was pleasant, it wasn't necessary, because Claire knew what he wanted.

He went back to the silver one and was delighted to find that it came in a brace. He purchased it not even noting the outlandish price. Money was nice but unimportant. He would always have enough because this was his world and he needed it.

The dress was much harder to pick out. While he was a sharp dresser most of the time, he didn't actually pick out his clothing. Usually his wardrobe was taken care of because if left to his own devices he would either be wearing a conductor's uniform or a skin tight suit for the circus.

Another problem he had was that in his mind's eye almost all the dresses looked beautiful on her, no matter how frumpy they looked on the plastic mannequins. But he could easily recall the black dress that hugged her lithe and wiry frame in all the right places and he decided simple was better. She didn't need a lot of frills and ribbons to make her look better because she made the dress look better not the other way around. Aside from that, embellishments might get in the way of her fighting.

He stopped for a moment to stare dreamily into space, recalling the way she danced across the train top, blades ready and glinting dangerously. Just as dangerous as her yellow eyes. She reminded him of a black panther that had lived at the circus in a tiny cage.

He could see that cage around her and he wanted to free her. He wanted to free her to have her. He wanted her in his universe under his rules because he knew he would treat her the way she deserved to be treated.

There had been others before but he knew there would be no others after. He had known that instantly, even before she had shown him her fighter's spirit and soft uncertainty. She was different; she was what he had been so patiently waiting for.

Love at first sight.

Berga had scoffed at that one. Keith merely gave a ghost of a smile and a nod of understanding before he proceeded to wipe them out with his hand. Claire never did get why his brothers felt comfortable ruling the world of cards, yet did nothing about the rest of their existences.

He peered at a white dress and admired the cut. The fabric was soft to his touch and it moved with the slightest tug. There was a give to it that spoke of its flexibility. He considered for a moment, since he didn't actually know her favorite color and he had only seen her wearing black.

But he felt white suited her better.

…

And the second he saw her wearing it, he knew he had been right. Because he was always right. It was his world and he knew it was right to bring _her_ into it. Chane Laforet. His future wife.

And suddenly he wanted something traditional. He wanted a wedding with friends and family gathered around congratulating him. He wanted to see her wrapped up in fine lace with a train that made her appear to glide across the floor. He wanted to see a ring adoring her slender fingers marking her as his and a ring adoring his finger marking him as hers.

They would make a perfect couple. And that was something he would convince her of. Because she was his world. Claire Stanfield had fallen in love the traditional way, but he hardly minded.


	5. Skills and Wisdom are Acquired

Title: Skills and Wisdom are Acquired not Inherent

Author: Eeevee

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Written for my sister. She needs a little pick-me-up and for some incomprehensible reason likes LuckxDallas.

Luck laughed quietly in his quiet bedroom. He was tucked away, swathed in blankets and propped up with several goose down pillows. The tattered book in his hand wavered as he laughed then started to cough. Ruefully he waited until the fit was over then took a sip from the glass by his bedside.

He already knew that immortality did not equal invincibility but to be laid flat by the common cold was a bit humiliating.

Once his breathing softened, he glanced back at the dog-earred page that he found so amusing.

He had found the book half-forgotten in the backroom of his favorite bookstore. It was buried beneath several others and when he dug it out. This access to the backroom was a privilege he enjoyed immensely and if he had free time it was invariably spent digging through second-hand books. There was an intangible pleasure to finding a forgotten or rare bit of paper and binding.

The intricate symbol on the front had drawn him in, but it was the actual meaning behind a familiar name that made him laugh. Dallas. Skilled or wise one. This was most certainly an instance of big aspirations for a child that never came through.

Abruptly Luck stopped chuckling. Time seemed to have taken on a new meaning for those who were immortal. He hardly noticed the days because they felt like seconds. Years were marked only by the seasons' change.

He knew it was late winter. Ice coated the streets and pulled down the balconies. Trash cans froze to the cement and the turfs wars cooled. It had been several years since he had last seen Dallas, who seemed to once again be up to no good.

That simply seemed to be Dallas' nature, and Luck certainly felt inclined to judge. But he tempered himself for reasons he hardly knew himself. He never told his brothers his conflicting opinion of the man and for awhile it seemed to be a faded issue.

But now he was thinking about it. And it bothered him. Sometimes he wished his brain would not be so obnoxious; it was much better when he was simply enjoying reading the book.

He brought the glass to his lips and let the last of the liquid trickle down his sore throat. Reluctantly he pushed his way out of the snug blankets and stood. For a few seconds he swayed then gained his balance. His bare feet slid across the threadbare carpet and he wandered towards the kitchen. Eventually he knew he would have to fix the place up, but to do so would ruin the nostalgic value of a time when it was just him and his brothers.

Bachelorhood suited him but sometimes it was lonely.

Coming around the corner he instantly sensed the intruder. He realized immediately that he was weaponless, weak from illness, and completely off guard. Even the years of being shot up and put back together did not dull his instinct, which were alternating between aggression and flight.

When he heard the voice address him, it did nothing to relax him.

"Evening Luck."

Luck came around the corner to see Dallas seated at his kitchen table. He had helped himself to the liquor cabinet but did not look entirely at ease. The fingers on his left hand twitched with nervous energy.

"It is after midnight." Luck corrected mildly, still trying to come up with an appropriate response to an intruder in his kitchen that did not involve a tommygun or a string of insults. "And I do not recall giving you a key."

Dallas shrugged and Luck gave him a hard look. The years between their last meeting had changed the other man's appearance. He had lost the juvenile delinquent look and had a hard edge that meant business. He was dressed smartly and no longer slouched. Time had been rather kind to him it seemed. He was sobered up with maturity and quite good looking.

"It was easy enough to get in," his fingers drummed and a small smile played across his face. "You're slacking, you bastard."

"Immortality does that." Luck retorted and coughed. He went to the sink then thought better. Grabbing the bottle off the table, he took a big gulp and set it back down in front of Dallas. The alcohol burned as it touched the infected skin of his throat and cleared his mind with the pain.

Dallas took the invitation and swigged.

There was a long pause between the two. Luck was trying to take in the new, mannered and clean Dallas. He was not sure which bothered him more: the lack of profanity or the appearance of the tie.

What had not changed was Dallas had set something in motion and now he was not quite sure how to handle it.

Abruptly he started laughing. It was not the kind of laugh that showed merriment and Luck was puzzled. He was beginning to wonder if Dallas' sanity was impaired.

"God dammit, I just can't catch a break. Fucking up like usual," he gave another desperate laugh. Now this sounded like the Dallas Luck knew. "Another failure. That's me, Dallas the god damn failure."

Luck leaned against the kitchen wall and watched the man in front of him have a breakdown. He stepped into save his table, which had turned into a wooden punching bag, and grabbed the other man's fist. Dallas immediately froze and slight tremble rippled off of him.

Luck let go quickly.

And this was why both Claire and Firo told him he was not fit for the mafia.

Because he was too nice. Even to a man he should not be nice to, who should fear him, and who he should have evicted at knife or gun point.

"Do not destroy my furniture with your tantrum." Luck said quietly, "It has sentimental value."

Dallas stared at the table and scowled. Stiffly he picked up the bottle that had tipped and stood up. Fishing around in his suit pockets he pulled something out in his closed fist. Luck tensed, although he was not sure what kind of weapon was so small that it could be concealed that way.

They both watched as Dallas' fingers uncurled slowly. A small wad of paper lay innocently in his palm once the fingers were retracted. Luck knew instantly what lay written on the small, crumpled sheet and why Dallas was sitting in his kitchen.

Luck paused to consider the massive tangle of emotions that were writhing around in his abdomen like a basketful of snakes. Disbelief. Trepidation. Disgust. Amusement. And, strangely enough, hope and delight slithered right along with the rest. He covered his mouth to muffle a cough and hoped his face did not show what he was feeling. Of all the times for Dallas to do this, it would have to be when he was weak and ill and alone. It would have to be a time when he would be fuzzy in the head and complicate things that were really quite simple. And he was not even tipsy this time.

"Do you think you are that man?" he asked quietly, tensing for the answer. Such simple words were deceptive. 'That man' was subjective and they both knew it. It was a matter of who knew whom better and how far they wanted to play this game of words.

Dallas' fingers drummed slightly on the wood and he rolled the bottle around in a small circle. He looked up steadily, his dark eyes trained on Luck, "I've been working on it."

Luck smiled, "And you think that is good enough? To merely work towards a goal rather than achieve it? It is no wonder you are, as you so blatantly termed it, a failure."

Dallas lost all pretense of being humble and behaving. He exploded to his feet and shouted, "You fucking bastard!"

Luck chuckled, enjoying the moment, and tsked, "Language. I did not say you are a failure yet."

"What the hell does that mean?" the other man grumbled sounding mollified that Luck did not really mean he was a loser.

It was hard not to draw away when Dallas flinched, but Luck kept his hand on the other man's shoulder. If this were to go anywhere, the two of them would have to get used to physical contact.

"Do I have to spell it out or have you gained some intelligence along with those fantastic manners and expensive ties?" It was just too much fun to tease.

Instead of exploding again, Dallas considered his words. Abruptly his face lit up although he scowled at the same time.

"Then just fucking say that instead of making up some fancy words."


	6. The Melody of Life

Title: The Melody of Life

Author: Eeevee

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Dedicated to my sister who said Keith needed some love  Based off the novel "Drugs and Dominos" and not the anime series. Spoilers if you have not read the novel, but nothing drastic or plot-destroying. And I've seen her name translated at "Kate" and as "Katie"; I like Katie better. Some other liberties were taken to fill in gaps that the novel didn't cover.

It was hard to feel one pair of eyes in a thousand. And I had many adoring fans. The stage was my life and my family; a family of staff and adoring fans.

After it was over, I realized that I would have to make a new life. I've always been very frank and pragmatic. It is what it is and I was out of a career. The talkies had taken away my livelihood, but not my love of music. I never gave up my comfortable shroud of music.

And I think that he played a major part in that.

Of course, I didn't notice him at first. It wasn't that he was ugly or brutish; I simply wasn't interested in having a man in my life. When I was fired and replaced there was suddenly this new awareness that seized me. I started paying attention to my tiny audiences in those little bars and cafes where I earned my living.

His sharp features stuck in my mind that first night I noticed him. No matter how you looked at him, he didn't appear to be the wholesome man fresh out of law school. He was way off in the corner playing a game of cards with an intense look. Except the look wasn't directed at the cards, it was directed at me.

And instead of being afraid, I was curious.

Mother always said that I had more curiosity than a cat and half the sense of one. She couldn't understand how I could be so good about some dangerous things and a total idiot about others. And no amount of reassuring that it was instinct and I would be fine ever soothed her ruffled feathers after one of my bouts.

Well, she was dead and gone now. The only relative I had left was a younger sister who lived in Boston. She had married well and had a household full of maids to boss around. She always told me that I should find a good man to take care of me. I found the idea perfectly revolting when I could support myself with my talent.

After the first few dismissals, I'd always find another place to go. And he'd always find me. Somehow he always knew when I was playing and he could be counted on to be in the audience.

At first I was unsure why he wanted to listen to me. After all, I was a nothing at this point. Anything I had been was replaced with technology. Then it occurred to me: he was shy.

And that was funny to me. I certainly wasn't impressive or imposing. My tall, long frame lent me height but I am as big around as a toothpick. My honey colored hair was certainly pretty enough, but it was my hands I was most proud of. I had long everything from my face to my toes, including beautiful, delicate fingers and manicured nails. I am quite vain about my hands because I wanted everything about how I played to be beautiful and flawless as the ivory and ebony keys my fingers dance across.

One night I decided this could go on forever: him watching and listening and me playing.

I approached him quietly and stood in front of him expectantly. If he was surprised by my actions he didn't show it. Instead he gave a slight incline of his head towards the seat next to him. I gathered my skirts and sat down waiting for any explanation.

He stared at my hands for quite awhile, enough to make me fidget, before looking into my eyes. I stared back realize that he wasn't shy at all; he was beyond patient. There were statements in those eyes that said things I wasn't sure I was ready to accept.

"It has been difficult to listen to you play since the theater has employed talkies. You cannot tell who is who when you listen."

And then I realized I had seen him before. Although the mind was a tricky thing that needed a reason to remember.

"My name is Katie Weaver." I offered suddenly. I put a hand over my mouth for being so forward.

"Keith Gandor," his voice was deep and measured but I had to lean in to hear it because he was so quiet. I got the distinct feeling that not many people got to hear him speak and I was honored by the words he gave me.

It was an interesting night. He didn't seem inclined to chat me up with tales of his valor and bravo as my previous dates had done. Instead he listened to me tell him of my childhood and my family and the death of my career. I must have gone through several topics before my voice started to give and I realized I had blurted out my life's story to a complete stranger.

Mortified, I bolted up. He quietly got to his feet and gracefully put on his jacket which hung over the back of his chair. He offered an arm and I looked at him uncertainly. Then that affliction of curiosity struck again.

If he knew when and where I worked, I really shouldn't have been surprised he also knew where I lived. He was a perfect gentleman walking me to my door and not expecting more.

I didn't realize it but my courting had begun. Nor did he realize it but I had found a new reason to play.

The next day a bouquet of flowers arrived. It was followed by sweets and jars of honey and jam. Stuffed animals and jewelry and scores of music filled my doorstep. There was never a name or a return address because there never needed to be.

He continued to come to my performances without fail. Afterwards I would usually come sit by him, first with my hand over his knee then later with my longer fingers twined in his thicker ones. Sometimes I'd talk about my day and other times I'd simply watch him as he had watched me.

There was a sternness to him that manifested physically on his brows and a seriousness that showed his deliberate, methodical nature. He had a very precise idea of his life and he followed his convictions without hesitation.

This I could see although he rarely spoke more than a sentence or two an evening. If I was lucky I could get him to answer a string of questions. I loved guessing games and he seemed to enjoy humoring my endless curiosity.

I learned all sorts of things about him. He had three brothers whom he appeared to love dearly although he didn't speak their names often. His father had left him a business that he ran with the same stern dedication he gave the rest of his life. He admitted through omission that it was not the sort of job he would have chosen for himself, but it was his and his brothers' legacy now. It probably wasn't the sort of business I should inquire about, so I didn't.

I also learned he was quite the shark at cards. And amazingly enough, quite the cheater too. It was an endearing quirk in his straight-arrow behavior.

The more I learned about him the more I wanted to learn. He was as intriguing to me as the silent movies I had accompanied, and I wanted to play for him and narrate what he couldn't seem to express himself.

He brought his brothers to a late night performance one night. I was surprised and delighted. The family resemblance was strong in looks, but I found out very quickly that the brothers were only alike in looks; their personalities were quite different.

Berga was a big, overpowering man who eyed me with interest. When introduced he held out a massive fist and gently shook my hand, which was a major contrast to the man's face he just punched in at the card table. He, of course, did wipe off his knuckles before making my acquaintance.

Luck was slight compared to his tall, lean older brother and his broad, strong brother. He seemed to wear a perpetual smile of amusement. I wondered what made such a young man so cynical but found him charming enough. Somehow I wasn't surprised he was a fan of poetry, especially Poe.

At times the three made a strange contrast, but to be honest, I was jealous. They were much tighter than my sister and I could ever have been and there was an open honesty in their interaction that was rare these days. You could tell the younger two looked to Keith as a moral pillar, and they trusted and loved him beyond doubt.

And those feelings seemed to extend to me, which was embarrassing until I got used to it.

I became a regular visitor at the jazz bar the brothers owned. Keith insisted that I only visit during the day and it was a request that I followed faithfully. It was partly out of respect for his privacy and partly because I didn't feel comfortable if one of the brothers weren't there. I didn't much care to be involved in whatever business lurked under the façade of legitimacy. And Keith didn't seem inclined to share that part of the business with me.

My favorite part of the bar was the beautiful, sleek piano that sat in the corner of the low stage. It wasn't anything like the grandness of the organs I was used to playing and it was a trick to learn some of the more complex finger work required of the smaller instrument, but I adored it.

I adored it because it symbolized the change in my life. No longer could I infinitely hold one note without effort, breathy and powerful. Now I had to learn the subtleties and patterns of another kind and the notes I played resonated before fading to a humming nothingness.

It was an interesting time and looking back I wonder if it would have ever gone any further under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances were not well acquainted with the Gandors I'm afraid.

'Ah, Miss Katie, let me escort you home.' Luck said rising from his chair.

It was about four in the afternoon. Keith was out on business, but I had decided to stay for a few hours in hopes of running into him, enjoying a debate with Luck about some reading. I was startled to see how long our debate had lasted and realized I was going to be late for work.

'Don't you have to get the bar ready for the evening?' I queried gathering up my coat and gloves. It was getting chilly with fall and even though I didn't have far to go, I'd rather not have to warm up again.

He paused, clearly torn between his duties.

'I'll be fine. It's just a few blocks down. I've walked it a million times.'

He didn't look reassured.

'Who would dare to bother me in your territory?'

He still didn't look convinced and beckoned an employee over. They had a quiet conversation.

'Bill will accompany you home, Miss Katie. I'm truly sorry I can't go myself.'

It's silly to think that just because you've done it a million times that you are safe.

The men come upon us so quickly that Bill had time to draw but not aim or fire. The assailants worked quietly and efficiently to bind him. With one terrible slash his throat was cut. His body crumpled to the ground looking like a pile of dirty, discarded laundry.

Rough hands clutched my wrists and pawed at me. A large, grimy hand clamped over my mouth muffling my scream.

'Behave you,' the voice grated in my ear. 'And mebbe you'll keep those pretty little fingers.'

I instantly stilled. He could not have come up with a more dire threat for me if he had threatened to rape me against the cold, brick wall.

I was hustled off, confused and frightened, to a dark room. When the man tried to bind my wrists I asked him to tie my arms to my sides instead. I was proud that my voice only shook a little. I could not allow them to damage my wrists lest I lose any flexibility. He laughed before stuffing a dirty rag in my mouth to gag me but did as I asked.

Left in the dark, I dozed and considered the predicament I was in. This was obviously the result of Keith's secret business. Being held hostage is a terrible thing to bear. I hardly minded the ropes or the dark, but the thought of being used against those I loved was horrifying. Even though I knew it was silly to think so, I felt if one of them were hurt that it would be all my fault.

A few times I tried to squirm around, to see if I could loosen the bindings, but the ropes stayed fast.

Eventually I did doze despite the cold and discomfort.

The next time the door opened a dull glow of light seeped in and I blinked groggily before jerking up.

'Shhh, it's okay.'

I relaxed.

'Bill's dead.'

'We know. They'll pay, don't worry.'

I actually was worried. For my kidnappers.

'Keith?'

'Big brother's taking care of it.'

There was no doubt in my mind what that meant. I am not a squeamish person but I was glad that Luck was sent to retrieve me. There was no doubt in my mind that he would take me around the wrathful carnage. Most likely it was not a sight for a lady and probably not most of the rest of the population of New York either.

Back at the night club I was sipping hot chocolate, which probably had a bit of spirits in it despite the laws, and plinking keys on the piano. Luck was pacing and frowning behind me, clearly wishing he hadn't been honored with the noble duty of rescuing me.

We both jumped when Berga came crashing in. He was war-whooping and smashing his fists together. I gathered from that they had been successful. I looked past him to Keith who was silently following his brother. Our eyes met across the room and held.

There was so much he was trying to tell me that the messages were clamoring over one another. And I, who hadn't cried the entire time, felt tears running down my cheeks. Swiftly, I turned around and placed my hands on the keys.

I wish that what I had played had been recorded. I've tried to duplicate it many times since then without any success. I would say it was the best performance of my life without a blush and I think Keith felt that way too.

He waited for me to finish before coming to my side. He leaned down to whisper in my ear and I put a finger up to his lips.

"Yes." I answered as he slipped the ring on my finger.


	7. Extra, Extra!

Title: Extra, Extra!

Author: Eeevee

Genre/Rating: general/K

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Notes: Self-mocking and intended to be utterly silly. Practice writing press releases.

Nicholas pulled a face and stared down at the massive stack of papers. The sheets were up so high that the stack was tilting. He sighed and reflected that having his nose dragged over iron rails should've been punishment enough; his boss didn't need to rub it in even more.

The Daily Days' main source of income was brokering information, but of course, if that was the front they put out to the public the coppers would be in sniffing around for illegal material. Like, say, the tommyguns the staff had stashed under desk, the booze bribes in the backroom, or that fact that the Days sometimes withheld information that should be given over to the badges.

So, like the many mafia families in the area, the Daily Days had a front operation, which just happened to be a legitimate paper. Readers paid a nominal fee and the circulation was enough to pay for the ink and paper, if nothing else.

This just happened to be the week that the editor of the legal part of the operation was on vacation visiting his family in New Jersey. Judging by the massive stack of papers, he had been on an unofficial vacation for the last few months.

Which just irked Nicholas more. Trust the legit side to be the lazy ones.

He picked up the top sheet gingerly like it was a carrier of the plague and set it down in front of him.

Tic's Hairriffic Cuts—

Saving food in your beard for later? Waking up with birds literally nesting in your hair? Need a bit shaved off the top? Come to Tic's for a tidy and stylish hair cut. All customers welcome except for enemies of the Gandor Family—you know who you are. Actually, go ahead, come enjoy a hair cut, but we make no guarantees you keep your head…

"What? This isn't a press release," Nicholas grumbled, tossing the paper in the wastebasket. He scratched his head, "But maybe I do need a hair cut. These split ends are terrible."

Lost—

Lost brother. He is about 6'4", brown hair and eyes, answers to "Dallas." If found, please return to the Geonard mansion immediately. He is not neutered and may get into fights but is generally very tractable if you bribe him with peppermint candies. He is dearly missed and needs medication and God. REWARD.

Nicholas grinned, "Who says rich folk don't have a sense of humor?" He tossed that paper too.

Press Release— Firecrackers are Dangerous

There is no grander day than the founding freedom of this country. However, this is a dangerous time for the citizens of New York. Recently a new, powerful firework has made its way to the street.

The sellers of this explosive is rumored to be a young man with a sword tattoo and a young woman with scars and an eye patch. The firework is set off from a long fuse and is shaped like cherry bombs. Once detonated, it explodes in a shower of colored sparks. There is a secondary explosion that creates a loud clap.

These fireworks are very easy to use if lit with a blowtorch, but experts warn to keep fingers out of the way and only throw them at your nasty neighbor's car as they will scratch paint and crack windows.

Several people have already been sent to the hospital for throwing the bombs straight up and the property destruction in school toilets has been exorbitant. Citizens are warned to use these explosives in conjunction with other fireworks and guns; that way the police will assume that the noise is mere celebration not a raid.

"This one has potential… too bad it was dated three months ago," Nicholas sighed, realizing that just finding a few press releases and throwing them on a page was going to be harder than he thought. "This article might have given us more information to use if it was printed. Using firecrackers as a diversion is genius!"

Press Release—Man Uses Wrench to Save Kitten

The New York City fire brigade is underfunded and overworked. These fine men do a fine job of keeping the city safe. However, when it comes to getting little kittens out of trees for old ladies, well, there just is not enough manpower.

That is where a bright young man named Graham Specter came in. A local mechanic, he was on his way to work when he spotted a small kitten meowing on a balcony. It was obvious the kitten was stuck, so he swung his wretch, bringing down the balcony.

"I was just trying to shut it up," Mister Specter said, "It was interrupting my convolution and rambling monologue that tends to lose and confuse everyone after the twelfth run-on sentence and warped philosophic view of life in general—catch—but I no one wants to stop my speeches because if they interrupt my euphoric moment I have a bad inclination of violently and accurately throwing my wretch… and I did, at the cat that is, and it sure shut him up. But I missed the potted plants because the flowers are a pretty red, and that stands out nicely against white, just like blood."

Muffin, the little kitten, was so grateful to be saved that he promptly hissed and fainted dead away. Muffin has recovered from his ordeal and Mister Specter says he would do it again if he could. That is what true heroes are like.

"Nothing like a human interest story with a cute kitten," Nicholas said and placed the paper in the 'keep' pile. Feature stories were always good to fill blank spaces between the ads.

Press Release—Gangs Acknowledge National Peace Day

Imagine the children of the world holding hands singing It's a Small World in perfect harmony. There's a child from Germany, a child from Italy, a child from England. All these children are getting along without nary a bicker. In fact, Italy is asking for pasta.

Now imagine the gangs on the streets doing the same. While it might be easier to imagine the former, the latter has happened. All the gangs in the area had a day of cease fire inspired by unknown individuals dressed Mohandas Gandhi and Mother Teresa. These two influential figures confused the gangs so much that instead of fighting there was an anonymous retreat and deserted streets.

The ceasefire lasted until the two individuals were almost removed by the police for stalking and inappropriate and deadly use of pepper. They remain at large and normal activity had returned to the area. But for a day the streets were as safe as when the wild animals and savages roamed the woods of the Roanoke colony. But that sort of peace will never last in the modern world we live in.

Nicholas shook his head, "Poor bastards. No one wants to read about the war or gangs. It's just too cliché and overdone." That one bounced off the rim and rolled under the desk.

The next piece of paper perplexed him greatly. The sheet was blank except for the middle, which had very elegant cursive that said,

Smile :)

"What the?" That last one was a little bit too much for him. "No wonder the poor sob went on vacation." Nicholas yawned and stretched, realizing he had been reading for over three hours and the stack had only dropped an inch and a half. He shoved himself out from under the desk promising to come back to the stack later.

After all, it wasn't going anywhere.

Edit: Fixed for strange format issues :) hopefully easier to read now


	8. Troubled Finances

Title: Troubled Finances

Author: Eeevee

Rating: T for… no reason at all really

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Written for Jen Konoha with the added bonus of tormenting my friend and sister :) Sweet. Also, if I didn't respond to your review, I am really sorry! FF . net wasn't letting me reply to some of the reviews for some reason. I appreciate the comments. And I'm not trying to make Luck the series bicycle either…

I stared down at the messy piles of papers scattered around in despair. Although I hadn't been foolish enough to think everything was easy I just wanted to cry. Sob into my arms like the little girl I was. It was a behavior that would be very unfitting for the mistress of the household, so I merely scrubbed my eyes and touched the tiny gold cross at my chest.

"Mistress Eve?" I hastily tucked the cross away, a sure sign to those who knew me that I was distressed, and shuffled the papers. It was no use hiding because it was probably plain as day I was exhausted and frustrated. "Mistress Eve, what are you doing? Didn't I tell you the accountant would take care of this? Come away child. This is no task for a good little girl like you."

Obediently I pushed the chair back but said, "But when we find Dallas I want everything to be in order."

I half expected to be laughed at. These last few months weren't kind to me. Of course, Dallas was no where to be found, typical of my brother, and the responsibility of the house and my blood weighed down heavily on me. If only Jeffery or Father were here!

"Mistress Eve, you need to go to bed. Here, let me help you get ready for bed."

Again, I obediently followed down the hall. I barely paid attention as I was bathed and dressed then tucked under the covers. I vaguely remember bidding good-night and turning out the lamp. And then, it happened. That is to say, nothing happened. I stared into the dark, thinking and considering my options. And like the nights and weeks before, I had no easy solution.

So I did the only thing I could do. The only thing I could think of to do. I crawled out from under the covers, shivering against the chill, and kneeled on the hard floor. Clasping my hands in front of me and propping my elbows on the mattress, I prayed.

When I woke panting and soaked with sweat, I wasn't surprised to be on the chilly floor. Slowly I picked myself up, shaking off the night terror coursing through my veins.

I simply had to go.

Which meant sneaking out and making my caretakers worry. But I knew the way well enough, despite having only been there once. I wasn't sure what sort of reception I would receive. At least not from the ones that could actually help me but I had to try.

Slipping silently to my wardrobe I chose the darkest cloth I could find. It certainly wouldn't do to wear white and make a target out of myself. I wasn't that naïve.

The midnight trek wasn't hardly as scary as I had imagined it was going to be, although it was probably just as dangerous. But luck seemed to be with me as I stole across the silent streets clutching my cross and navigating away from dark, narrow alleys.

I sighed with relief as I reached the clean, quiet neighborhood. Picking my way across the cobblestone street, I squinted, trying to remember which house I was seeking. It was bad enough that I was making an unannounced visit in the dead of night, but it would be mortifying if I roused the wrong house. Still, my heart was banging wildly and I could hear it thrumming in my ears too.

Suddenly the silence was broken by two voices arguing quietly. The deeper one was insistent and accusatory, while the other was smooth and mocking. I didn't have time to hide before the two figures appeared. They spotted me instantly, who wouldn't? Some random girl standing in the middle of the street at two in the morning. Of course, my mind instantly considered what two men would be doing in the middle of the street at two in the morning and I shrank back.

"Miss Geonard?"

The two stood facing each other in a long, drawn silence. Eve thought she was prepared but the flood of emotions that washed over her was staggering. The last time she had seen this man, he had saved her; he had saved her from herself and empowered her to make her own decisions. He had bled for her and given more than her brother deserved for her. She could see similar emotions rolling in his eyes before he schooled his expression into a slight sardonic façade.

The older brother looked between the two in confusion.

"This is certainly no place for a girl." He finally offered, not knowing the circumstances but knowing he was brought up that a lady shouldn't be on the streets in the dead of night.

"Right brother Berga."

The two brothers stared at each other for another long moment and I almost laughed at the helplessness they were projecting. It was hard to think that these men were killers when they were unnerved by one lone girl.

"Is Mrs. Katie home?" I queried politely feeling the need to save them. "I know this is hardly the time for a social visit but…"

Luck glanced at his brother again and shrugged, "She's probably asleep. The doctor has suggested she get more rest."

"Is she ill?" I asked in alarm. Mrs. Katie had been so kind to me.

A genuine smile crossed Luck's face softening the sharp edges, "In a manner of speaking she is. But it is a welcome illness and one she'll have to endure for several more months."

"More like the rest of her life." The brother added with good cheer, "It better be a boy."

Another silence fell except it was warm and the awkwardness had been dispelled. I shivered slightly. The chill hadn't been too bad when I was moving but now that I had paused it was creeping up on me. I tugged the coat tighter and tried concentrating on the bizarre conversation I was in. It was good that the only ones who could see me now wouldn't care whether or not I acted like a lady of good breeding! The Gandors probably didn't care a whit about my manners or conversation skills.

"Did you need to see Mrs. Kate?" Luck finally asked, "You can come back tomorrow. I will escort you home. This is not a time for girls to be out alone. You should be home asleep."

I straightened my spine and forced myself to look up. It wasn't easy to peer into those eyes. Although he was a stranger for all intents and purposes, I felt as though I knew him intimately because I recognized the soul underneath all the bravado. I didn't have much experience with men in general, but I did have some understanding of men with demons. And I could see the demons lurking just as surely as I saw them in my big brother Dallas. And some sick, pitying part of me responded.

"No, I need to speak with you, Mr. Gandor." I said, proud that I didn't bite my lip. It was a bad habit I had when I was nervous, and I had been told several times that it was unbecoming, so I tried to stop, but sometimes I just did it instinctively.

His brother looked perplexed, but Luck immediately lost his smile and scrutinized me closer. He nodded, suddenly business-like and told his brother he would be escorting me home and we would discuss matters on the way. The bigger man just shrugged, giving in to confusion and trusting his little brother to take care of one little girl. He simply thumped Luck on the shoulder and bid us good-night.

"You're shivering." Luck noted gravely and asked in a stiff voice, "Would it be too forward of me to invite you to my apartment to warm up?"

I smiled, "No worries Mr. Gandor, there is no one to beat you up on behalf of my virtue."

I meant it as a joke, shaky as it was, but he frowned harder. His forehead pinched into a V and he draped his coat over my shoulders. I followed him a few blocks away into a slightly more crowded and dirty part of the area. It certainly wasn't as nice as Kate and Keith's place and I tried to avoid any suspicious substances on the pavement. These shoes would most certainly have to be burned and replaced; I was not going to wear them again.

He didn't speak again until he had led me to a small, sparse apartment. He gestured towards the living room and asked me what I would like to drink. I was embarrassed to ask, since I was sure that the liquid in his home was not what I would prefer. When I didn't give an answer he asked me to wait.

I stared around the room. There was a large, lone bookcase that sat hulking in the corner, a random wooden clock, a small lamp, and a rather shabby couch. Everything was neat and clean but I could tell this was not a place where Luck spent a lot of time. I wondered what it was like to be so closely tied to family. My brother Dallas was sweet in his own way when it came to me but our relationship was nothing like what I had observed about Luck and his brothers.

"Do you take honey?"

I jumped as Luck placed a steaming tea cup on the table and bade me to sit on the couch. Gingerly, I sat down and shook my head at the question.

"Sugar?"

Again, I shook my head and cupped my fingers around the fragile porcelain letting the warm seep into me.

"Ah, you're surprised that a man such as myself has fine china and honey." He smirked, reading my thoughts and clearly enjoying my surprise. "I certainly wasn't going to offer you bourbon."

"I am no such thing Mr. Gandor." I stuttered slightly, "Although hot water would have sufficed. I am terribly sorry for my intrusion but I needed to come at a time when I had no chaperone…" And then it occurred to me exactly what kind of position I was in for an unchaperoned young lady in a young man's house. I felt my face turn crimson and stared at the ripples in my tea.

Peering through my lashes, I could see that he was looking at me incredulously. Then he started chuckling.

"I am hardly what you should be worrying about." He said, sounding sure with the knowledge that he was harmless and a gentleman. I tried not to dwell on the self-mocking I heard in that laugh and blushed harder. Abruptly he stopped laughing and looked down seriously, "But something made you come all the way here just to speak to me. Is it about your brother?"

I took a deep breath, "Yes and no."

"Then they have not found him yet?" I tried not to notice how pleased he seemed to be at that thought. It seemed that just my big brother's name brought out ire in this man. But it was understandable; brother Dallas did some horrible things.

"No, although I have been financially backing a local river renovation in hopes of discovering big brother." I said calmly, taking a sip of tea. My hands only shook a little, betraying me ever so slightly. I simply prayed he wouldn't notice. "However, I am concerned about the financial affairs of my family money. I do not know enough to manage them."

"And the slimeball accountants are taking care of them for you?"

"Yes, I believe they are." It hurt me to admit that. If my father or brother were alive, this would not be a problem. Both of them were skilled in managing money and businesses. All I was skilled in was faith and belief. While my skill was appropriate for a girl of my standing, it did not do me much good in my current situation. I didn't know who to trust for guidance and advice other than God, and the only earthly man I could think of was the one standing before me.

"And you came to me?"

"Yes."

He chuckled softly and I blushed again. Seeming to notice my discomfort he stopped and reassured, "I'm just enjoying the irony." I stiffened; I didn't need him to point out how absurd this whole thing was.

"How do you know I can run accounts? There are certainly enough loyal and capable members of my family to that for me." He pressed and walked closer. I followed him out of the corner of my eye wonder just what I had gotten into. It was foolish to think that he would help me. He had no obligation to help me; in fact, it was quite the opposite. But some naïve little part of me did what it did best: had faith and hope.

"I did my research, Mr. Gandor." I answered primly, crossing my wrists across my lap and looking up, "You run all the accounts for all of your businesses, complete with double entry booking to catch clerical errors. It seems to be working well for you."

"So you want to hire me?"

I stood up so that I was facing him. I felt small and frail beside his taller, lean form but I also felt powerful.

"No, Mr. Gandor, I want you to teach me."

He just stared at me.

"I assure you, I am perfectly capable of basic arithmetic."

"I don't doubt that. If you're capable of nearly blowing a man's face off, I am sure a little book keeping is no challenge."

I repressed a shiver at the images that sentence conjured up. I could feel the cold gun pressing into my palms and the trigger nestled up against my soft finger. And I felt the blackness, the hurt, and the rage. Tears started prickling behind my eyes. I really was awful for asking so much.

Sensing my impending tears Luck frowned. Clearly he thought he had given me a compliment. And I suppose he had, but it did not make me feel any better that he was treating me so well.

"I accept. I'm not a nice teacher, Miss Geonard."

"I was not asking for a nice teacher, Mr. Gandor." I replied, "I want a good one."

"Well, as your teacher, my first request is that you stop calling me Mr. Gandor. It would be very uncomfortable for me if you called me that for the time that I taught you."

"That is highly improper." I giggled trying not to cry. Sometimes I wondered how men so easily kept their sadness and loneliness locked up, only showing what they felt through their eyes. "But you may call me Miss Eve in return. We should discuss payment."

"Tomorrow." He said. "You need to go home. You look dead on your feet and soon enough the police will be searching for you. I certain would not like to explain what you are doing in my apartment unsupervised."

"Oh dear, could we not mention that? I was going to say that I met you at Mrs. Katie's." I stammered, suddenly realizing my position now that the business was over.

He looked amused, although there was no sardonic tinge to his smile, and he nodded. "I won't breath a word Miss Eve."


	9. Dirty Rat

Title: Dirty Rat

Author: Eeevee

Rating: T for language

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: Written for my sister. Again. Because, apparently, this is her OTP. A little more light-hearted than usual and possibly slightly OOC. Prologue for another planned ficlet. Other stories are being worked on but I owe lots.

Dallas stared at the small, white creature before him. It stared back, head swaying slightly, pink eyes bulging out. It wasn't any different than any other rodent at first glance. The fur was white and it's long, pink tail and pink feet were dirty with street grim. In fact, it was behaving extremely docilely considering earlier it had tried to chew off his fingers, earning a few swear words.

Bored with the staring contest, it sniffed the air and then grabbed a chunk of cheese that Dallas had thrown in there. Rats ate cheese, right? Or was that mice. Whatever, the disgusting animal was eating it.

Dallas sunk down into the chair to get a closer look. This rat seemed perfectly normal, until you looked closer. Its fur was thinning and silvered while the pitifully thin and aged body swayed slightly. The pink eyes were filmed over with white and the whiskers were kinked and broken. It wasn't sick, just old. Except anyone who'd been a native of the mean streets of New York City knew there was no such thing as an old rat. It was a damn fairy tale.

Luck chose that moment to walk through the door. His sharp face was twisted in a scowl and he thumped down a big, black bag. His coat was covered in blood and he chucked his hat at the table.

Dallas knew that now was not a good time to bother the other man. Any idiot could see that. So he didn't say any greeting or even look fully around. In fact, as little movement as possible would be good right now. After all, he was in an amiable mood at the moment, pensive actually, and he didn't feel like getting in a huge fight.

"What is that?" Luck's cold voice floated over his shoulder, "And why is it on my table?"

Dallas shrugged, "What does it look like?"

He half-expected to be whipped around and slammed into the wall for his insolent answer. It wouldn't be the first time. Of course, it usually degraded into a full-blown fight with fists and curses, and that was probably what Luck felt like right now.

"It looks like a fucking filthy animal sitting on the place where I eat my food." Luck growled, still behind him. Dallas turned seriously, careful to keep his language clean; it was a good habit he had fallen into, "It is but I'll clean it up. You're covered in blood, you know that? You can't really talk about things being filthy when you're dripping on the floor. Why don't you go take a shower or something?"

It felt weird to be the one offering high-handed suggestions, and if Luck wasn't so agitated, it would probably earn him a good, solid tongue lashing.

Instead of going to the shower, Luck sunk down into a chair and glared balefully up at Dallas. His sharp brown eyes were probing and his lips curled up into a twisted expression of question.

"So what is special about this creature?" Luck asked, looking down at the rat. It was now grooming its whiskers.

"This." Dallas abruptly slammed a large book down on the animal with a violent thunk and crunch. More bright blood splattered on Luck's suit, making a contrast over the old, dried blood. He swore and jumped at the sudden violence. "Language, Luck, isn't that what you're always telling me."

"You just destroyed my book."

Dallas looked down in surprise and realized what he was holding. Grimacing sheepishly, he realized he probably could've skipped the dramatic point and just used a knife. Now he was going to have to buy Luck a new book. Fuck. And with his luck, this would be the most oldest, pointless, signed, expensive volume. Double fuck.

"Oops, sorry. I'll buy you a new one?" Dallas offered weakly really expecting to be punched. No one messed with Luck's collection of books. Dallas had once tipped over a bookcase in a temper tantrum. He never did that again. Ever. It was not amusing to be doused in gasoline and thrown out in the middle of a snowstorm for an hour. Not to mention it hurt like hell. "No, really, I didn't mean to. I just wanted to show you something."

"I know." Luck's voice was chilled and Dallas knew he was still in deep trouble. "But why you insisted on not only housing a filthy rodent on my table, but also smashing it and smearing blood everywhere, better have a good reason beyond show and tell. I already know you can kill things weaker than you are."

Dallas narrowed his eyes and was about to retort when it happened. The rat, getting spooked by the loud noises and threats, jumped up and landed on Luck's face. It scrabbled desperately, sharp little nails digging into flesh, and gripped his hair until it was perched on top of his head.

Dallas couldn't help laughing. And it wasn't a nice laugh-with-you sort of laugh. It was a nasty haha-I-told-you-Fucker laugh. He reached forward to grab the rat, which was once again a pristine white and no longer soaked in crimson. It bit his thumb with needle-sharp teeth and launched itself onto the table. Hitting the wood with a solid thump, it scuttled back into the now-crushed box Dallas had been keeping it in, shivering pitifully.

Luck just stared in amazement.

"Crazy, I know. I saw it get run over by an automobile on the street this morning. It's immortal."

Luck picked up the box, temper and disgust forgotten, and peered in at the animal. It chattered nervously before turning its back to him to continue cleaning.

"It appears to not be in particularly good shape."

"I saw that too. The little bastard looks like someone threw it through a shredder." Dallas replied, happy he wasn't going to be trounced for the book or the rat. Then again, the book was no longer soaked in blood, so he was probably okay.

"So what does this mean?"

"Hell if I know." Dallas growled darkly. "Means it's like me?"

The two stared over the table. Luck, perpetually nineteen, and Dallas appearing to most to be in his late twenties. The elixir had slowed his aging, he was actually thirty-seven, not that he was counting or anything, since Luck never bothered with dates. Time didn't matter much to him. Depending on when the rat was given the elixir, it was at least twenty years old. For an animal that rarely lived over twenty months, this was amazing.

"Get rid of it." Luck said finally.

"What?" Dallas smirked, "I was planning to keep it for a pet. It's just as cute and hairy as your brother. It'd be like a keepsake to remind me of how much he fucking loves me."

"Say that to his face and you will find out how much he loves you." Luck chuckled darkly. Both of them had decided that introducing Dallas to Luck's family was not the wisest course of action. The secret seemed to bother the other man at first, and probably still did, but he had relaxed over time.

"No thank you. The asshole would turn me into paste and probably successfully bite off my hand instead of my thumb." Dallas declined, fighting back a quick shudder at the thought of one-on-one with Berga.

He scooped up the box with the rat in it and went to the door. Suddenly his morbid interest in the creature was crushing and painful. He really shouldn't have picked it up. Knowing the future wasn't all it was cracked up to be and he sure as hell didn't want to consider being half-blind and crippled.

He chucked the box out into the hallway without a backwards glance and firmly shut the door. It was almost out of his mind by the time he returned to the kitchen because he was good at ignoring things that required deep thinking. Shit happened and thinking about it wasn't going to change it.

When he returned to the kitchen, Luck had gone.


	10. Maturity

Title: Maturity

Author: Eeevee

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Baccano! All characters are property of their respective creators.

Author's note: This story is a stand-alone and does not connect with any of the other drabbles. I'm not sure where it came from except the thought of "what would the Gandors be doing today?" and then I started considering the novels, where Firo's personality and maturity are the same throughout. People change during their lives... but is there a reason to change if you're immortal? History might be slightly off because I don't remember when exactly Dallas was getting into trouble but WW2 started at the end of the 1930's. An odd piece, very somber.

* * *

The old man slowly wandered down the street, peering down side streets and frowning at unfamiliar street signs. It had been far too long since he had visited, but his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren made it nearly impossible to visit the mean streets of New York City. The only reason he was here now was because most of his family was on vacation in Europe.

Bah, he'd been to Europe before- hell, he'd been all over the world- and he was quite satisfied to visit his birth place instead.

Still, nearly a century changed a lot of things, but it was no matter. He wasn't lost because he wasn't looking for much. He could feel it; the tug in his bones claiming him for this ground, where his blood relatives were buried. It sung in his blood and made his limbs tremble slightly. Placing his cane forward, he went to step off the street, mindful of those god-awful taxis; one would think the driving would improve over the decades not get worse.

It took a moment to register when the rubber foot of his cane caught in a crack, sending him head first into a busy street.

A brief flash of exasperation went through him at the thought of being hit by an automobile (he still had trouble calling them 'cars'), but there was no fear. He was past such simplistic fears as death and pain. It would be painful, oh yes, but he wouldn't die. Perhaps the driver would, after swerving madly to avoid him, or perhaps the driver wouldn't. In any case, he would go on as he had done for the past eighty years, and it would be hailed a miracle by the tabloids (and hushed by the government).

What he wasn't expecting was a strong hand to grab the back of his jacket (which his great-grand kids giggled at, calling him old fashioned) and yanking him back onto the sidewalk. A white car swerved sideways a little and its horn blared, fading into the chilly autumn air.

"You should be more careful, old man."

The old man froze, his mouth open to let loose a tirade against whomever had manhandled him. It snapped shut abruptly and the corner of his lip tugged into a slight snarl. Of all the coincidences in this world, he would have to run into one of his long-time enemies. This, in his mind, reassured him that even after being a good citizen, coming clean, and raising a healthy family, that God still thought of him as a cosmic joke.

He pondered what to do. It was obvious he had not been recognized, and who would recognize him after fifty some odd years? He could simply swallow his anger and thank the man for being a nosey jackass.

But apparently his mouth had other plans, "Good afternoon, Luck."

The old man turned just to see the other man's reaction. As expected, it was priceless. Luck looked the same as ever, although his clothing had changed with the times, and he wore an expensive black suit and carried a leather briefcase. His jaw set and his amber eyes narrowed. He looked odd without a hat, but those kinds of hats had fallen out of business fashion ages ago.

"Do I know you?"

"Once upon an era." The old man replied lightly, enjoying the wary confusion blossoming across Luck's face. "But it has been at least half a century since we have seen each other."

He could see Luck trying to categorize all of his acquaintances over the decades without much success. He smiled to himself, tucking his delight behind wrinkled lips. Reaching into his pocket, he procured a knife. Deftly he slid the knife down his arm, careful to hit the large, blue veins that stood out proximately on his liver spotted skin. Blood seeped out, running down his arm and splattering the sidewalk below.

"You are crazy, old man. I think you've had a few too many, staggering into traffic and thinking you know me." Luck said, but not unkindly. "And now I will have to take you to the hospital. They'll get you fixed up and get you-."

The rest of his sentence faded away as the blood arched off the cement and slithered back up the wrinkled flesh into the cut. Slowly the skin folded together like someone hand stitching a leather purse and sealed without a smear or scar.

"—You're an Immortal."

The old man hummed at Luck's shock and suspicion. He was sure Luck had met several other Immortals over the decades, as he had, not just the ones they knew mutually. He was right to be suspicious of course.

Over the silence of the next few seconds, teasing Luck lost its appeal. The old man couldn't muster the hate and bitterness he used to harbor. He might still be holding a grudge for the injustices done except he had met his wife. As a youth he had scoffed at the thought of love and devoting—his family was hardly a good role model as his parents could barely stand to live in the same house before his mother died—but as with most things in life, he learned he was wrong.

And he had never been so glad to be wrong in his life.

"I am lost, not senile." The old man spoke suddenly, realizing there was one place he had wanted to go, and this man would know where to take him. "I need to visit my sister."

Luck raised a brow and remarked archly, "I'm not an escort service or a phonebook. And you still haven't told me who you are."

"Eve Geonard, I believe you knew her."

The silence stretched longer this time, heavier. Luck peered at him over his sunglasses, which he had neglected to actually take off, clearly unhappy he had mentioned her name.

The old man had kept track of his sister for years without her knowing. Partly to avoid meeting her, because in his young, befuddled mind he was a failure and tainted and no good for her, and partly because he wanted to know she was safe.

"Dallas Geonard?"

The old man gave a short nod, switching his cane to his other hand. He hoped that it wouldn't be too far a trip. He found immortality kept him alive, but it did not keep him from becoming too tired or too sore. A flaw, in his opinion, he could do without. Looking at Luck, a brief surge of jealousy jolted through him. He doubted Luck became overly tired or had aching joints in the cold.

"I suppose I have some time for an old… friend." Luck said reluctantly. "You are aware Eve died five years ago?"

Dallas nodded again. He was aware. He had considered going to her funeral but decided it would be too awkward. He never told his wife about his past or his family, and he would not have known many at her funeral in any case.

"She-," Luck's voice cracked slightly and Dallas peered at him from under white brows, "Had cancer. She fought it for months, outliving the doctors' expectations and predictions, but in the end, she said she had to obey God's call."

Dallas frowned as he tried to picture his little sister a frail old woman clutching a rosary between shaky, skeleton fingers. The image overlapped with the last time he saw her, a young, hopeful girl with big brown eyes and beautiful brown hair.

"You have done well for yourself." Dallas replied, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. There would be time for grief and sadness in the cemetery, and it wouldn't be the first one he had visited over the years, outliving his wife and some of his children as well. "And I am sure that you treated her well. Thank you for taking care of my sister."

There was an unspoken echo of 'because I couldn't and didn't.' He wasn't sure if Luck felt what he was trying to say. Time had taught him what was important but had robbed him of whatever menial courage he had started with.

Luck gave him a crooked smile, "Office life doesn't suit me well."

"Good thing you aren't an office man." Dallas replied shortly, not appreciating being lied to. "Trafficking illegal weapons and selling them overseas is not much of an improvement since I last saw you."

Luck gave a snort, "Just bigger and better, that is all. War is money and business, no matter who we sell to. We own several side ventures as well, and I have been delegated care of the casinos. So I am an office man. I push paperwork, make deals, and smooze it up with all the hoity-toity CEOs."

The pair started walking down the streets, ignoring the traffic and crowds and setting sun. Dallas found it hard to keep up with Luck's pace, his tottery legs occasionally bowing sideways instead of bending forward, and he placed his cane carefully.

It would not do to have the man touch him again. He was not made of complete forgiveness, no matter how many years had passed.

"You do not seem happy with your role in life." Dallas observed and Luck gave a bark of a laugh. He turned his head, a mocking smile on his lips, and shot back, "And you, what have you done with your life? Your immortality?"

Dallas sighed, although it was in happiness, not exasperation or exhaustion. A younger version of him might have done the latter at what he had done with his life after coming home from the war. Although his draft had not been entirely voluntary- the government had caught wind of some of his less-than-legal activities and arrested him offering his release if he enlisted—it had changed his life.

And he could tell Luck had not reached that turning point. He was living the same life he had been living in the 1930's, stagnant and dull with the decades of routine. He wasn't living life, he was merely acting out the motions of duty.

"I have had a full life. I had a wife, she died eight years ago, and seven children. I have fifteen grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. I fought in World War Two for our country. I founded my own local grocery store chain and served on my local government for years. I am a stable, respected and beloved in my community." Dallas said with dignity, feeling somehow he had gained a victory over his old foe. "Eventually, my body will give out. You saw how slowly I healed; it took several minutes, instead of moments. Then I will be laid to rest, if there is anything left of me at that point, by my wife."

Luck openly stared at him, fox-eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Dallas busied himself with scaling the concrete steps they were climbing.

"But you cannot die."

"True, but I can age." Dallas would've held up a hand to illustrate his point but he needed it to balance. "And as cells age they deteriorate and shrink. So while I can't die, I suspect I will someday disappear. I hope for it, being trapped in this old, hurting body."

Luck was silent the rest of the way to the cemetery, probably rethinking his views about immortality and wondering why he had the bad luck to run into Dallas. Dallas didn't care at that point. His lungs were making little wheezing gasps puff through his lips and each step was a little less sure than the previous one.

Luck weaved through the tombstones without thought, showing this was a path he knew well, and paused in front of a particularly nice headstone of marble. Unlike the stones around it, it held only one name with the neat chiseling of her name and dates, instead of the standard two. A scripture verse flowed across the bottom with some illustrations. Flowers, life ones and silk, decorated the grave site.

"Life was worth living for Eve." Luck said unexpectedly, "It wasn't work or family when I was with her. Just a quiet reassurance that things were as they should be. I miss her terribly, although I suppose you understand, also having lost your wife.

"She was devastated when the doctors told her she could not bear children. She pretended she was not, calling it God's will, and threw herself into charity work, but I knew how deeply it bothered her. She wanted to leave me something, so I would not have to be alone."

"Children are…" Dallas considered his wording, "Irreplaceable. You would have made a good father and Eve a good mother."

Dallas placed a hand on the cool marble, eyes brushing over the fancy font of the scripture and lingering over the flowers. It reminded him that he had another cemetery visit, pending his return home to Iowa, and finding fresh flowers might be tough this late in the season. In his mind, he was speaking to Eve, even as his mouth spoke to Luck. He didn't think it quaint or crazy to address the dead anymore.

"Somehow I feel you have matured far better than I have." Luck remarked ruefully. He was standing to the side, looking awkward, with his sunglasses back over his eyes. His briefcase was settled at his feet like a loyal dog and for the moment he looked like a young boy playing dress up.

"Perhaps you have no reason to mature." Dallas replied quickly for he had thought about his deeply over the years, "After all, your time is infinite. You will be walking the Earth when it is lifeless and desolate from the remnants of humanity, along with all the other Immortals."

Luck pressed his lips together tightly and offered a hand. Dallas wordlessly brushed it off, although he was limping slightly from the climb up the stairs, and gave him a nod of acknowledgment.

"Thank you for bringing me to visit my sister. I was something I have put off so long until it became much too late. You may visit her if you wish; I will leave you two alone."

Luck looked like he wanted to say something more, perhaps invite Dallas out for drinks, but he ended up giving a tight smile and inquired, "Do you need me to call a taxi?"

Dallas considered for a moment before agreeing. His old bones wouldn't make the trip back to the hotel on foot and he was meeting an old acquaintance for dinner in any case.

"Good bye Luck. I wish you well with your immortality."

"Good bye Dallas. You have given me much to think about. Have a safe journey home."


End file.
